


wow this freak can just sleep on sand while wearing armor. what the hell.

by pocketpauling



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship, everyone shut the fuck up im posting churboose in 2020, i like when the ai has problems, this is mostly stream of consciousness sorry, uh. hi. i have a LOT of feelings about epsilon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27326056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketpauling/pseuds/pocketpauling
Summary: caboose takes a nap on the beach out back of blue base. church has a fucking breakdown.
Relationships: Michael J. Caboose/Leonard L. Church
Comments: 2
Kudos: 54





	wow this freak can just sleep on sand while wearing armor. what the hell.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [orion_star_factory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orion_star_factory/gifts).



> _“I just know I’m s’pposed to meet this girl, and I’m s’pposed to… fall in love.”  
>  “Ah-huh, and then what happens?”  
> “I don’t know? We - we do whatever people do when they fall in love.”  
> “I’m asking a specific question. You should give me a specific answer.”  
> “What, are you taking notes?”  
> “No. Maybe.”_
> 
> cw: suicidal thoughts but only like. momentarily. epsilon does have a panic attack.
> 
> if im remembering the series wrong SORRY but also i dont care its rvb its like a buffet. pick and choose your canon baby who gives a fuck

He’s kinder than Alpha was, he thinks. He hopes.

It’s hard to put up with, most days, especially in this stupid fucking base, when he’s already aware it’s all fake - that the only person who’s real here is Tex, that neither of them are technically _real_ , just copies of people he’s never going to see again.

But the grass feels real. It feels real, and the ocean sure _looks_ real, the way it stretches on for miles out back of Blue base. It feels so, so real - and it’s so, so different from that box canyon he - another him - was in all those years ago. It’s different because _he’s_ different, they’re all so different in these memories. Everything’s _changed_.

So, he’s different. Kinder than Alpha was. He thinks, and he hopes that he’s right.

It’s the middle of the day, and he’s sitting on this fake beach that feels so, so real - and Caboose, the separation-anxiety-riddled puppy that he is, followed him right over, fell asleep right beside him on the sand. Just popped his helmet clean off and tossed it to the side and started snoring the moment his head hit the ground. 

Caboose is more or less the same - and that’s not true, actually, now that he’s remembering it. Caboose is the same as he was later on, sure, but here? Before Tex, before the tank incident, before his death, Caboose wasn’t so incomprehensible. Someone that he could have gotten along with, easy. Someone that _Alpha_ could have gotten along with, if he’d been less of an asshole. If he’d extended his hand, laughed off his shitty attempts at jokes, humored the poor guy. Made him feel welcome, or something. Something nice. _Anything_ nice. He should have tried, at least. It might have stopped what happened after.

Something… something _happened_ after Tex. Something happened to the idiot next to him on the sand, something that he’s not really sure about. Fucked him up a little. Fucked him up a lot.

It’s hard to hold his train of thought on that, no matter how much he tries _,_ because the guy is a distraction even when he’s asleep, like it’s his God damn job. Not his face, or anything - _God_ , no - it’s the _snoring_ that Church is paying attention to.

He’s gotten used to Caboose’s snoring, by now. Years of living in the same space has taught him to tune it right the hell out. But, right now, it’s kind of nice to listen to - combined with the ocean, and the soft ringing of gunshots from the Reds, and the fans in his helmet trying their hardest to combat the fact that a metal casing will make you sweat like a _motherfucker_. It’s all the same level of white noise. Almost calming, somehow, despite the fact that it really shouldn’t be. A nice distraction that he doesn’t need, so he tries to click on the part of his brain that’s accustomed to tuning it out.

Something happened to Caboose, and it was _his_ fault, he thinks. Omega’s, if you’re wanting specifics, but Omega is part of _him_ , technically, maybe, so it’s the same thing. And, even if it isn’t, it sure feels like it. It feels awful. It feels terrible to think about, so he’s always pushed it away until he can’t push it anymore. It butts right up against a wall in his head, something that tells him he can’t keep fucking _repressing_ things. Can’t keep putting it in a box, burying the box in a field somewhere. Like, fuck, man - he’s here because memories are _important._ That’s, like, the whole fucking point of it all. That’s his whole thing.

His mind keeps ping-ponging back and forth, the box and the field - the memory he’s confronting and the white noise he could just let himself dissociate to for a few hours. And he wants to bury this fucking box. He wants to pretend he’s not the problem. He wants to.

It’d be a disservice to Caboose, though. And he doesn’t hate the guy _that_ much.

A part of him tells him to apologize, and another part of him agrees, and the part of him that’s _him_ , mostly, tells himself to fuck off, and then there’s this whole fight, and - well, he knows who’s right, here. He knows that there’s a lot to apologize for. Even if Caboose _did_ kill him. Which, hey, he knows, okay? He _knows_ it was an accident, and it didn’t even _kill_ him. He knows that, now. 

So, in retrospect, it’s a whole lot of aggression over nothing. And, looking at how peaceful the guy looks, napping next to him, his brain can’t really supply him with a lot of that. 

In its place, it’s a lot of sadness, something that sticks to his lungs - his _very human lungs_ \- and _hurts_. Hurts worse than being shot. And he doesn’t quite understand why. Not exactly. 

He’s been a dick before. _Alpha_ has been a dick before. To a lot of people. To Tucker, to the Reds (no matter how much they deserved it), to every other motherfucker who has had the displeasure of meeting him, but none of that matters the way his attitude towards Caboose does. Like, _Tex_ levels of hurt.

But it’s _why_ that’s getting to him. He doesn’t hate the man, he’s accepted that. But he doesn’t _like_ him, either. He doesn’t think his stupid nonsense is funny, or enjoyable to listen to, or, God forbid, _endearing_. He doesn’t like how Caboose tries his hardest to stick with him and support him through everything. How hard Caboose tries to make him happy. 

Something connects. It’s making his vision blurry, just a bit, the realization he’s just come to. And it’s not fair.

He didn’t ask for it, and it’s not fair for Caboose to want to be so close to him after everything he’s caused. For fuck’s sake, it’s all _Church’s_ fault. All of it. The whole storyline so far - every step of the fuckin’ way, it’s on him. He started it. He started it, dragged the rest of them into it, and it didn’t matter if he meant it, if he knew about it, it’s on him. Every death, every incident, every bit of trauma they’ve experienced, it’s on _him_.

Caboose’s spiral into incomprehensibility, his fault. His fault, his fault. 

It’s a prickling feeling, starting at his stupid human nose, numbness over his entire face, his skull, the tips of his fingers, because he’s become aware that he’s not breathing right, and he can’t even to anything about it - stuck, somewhere in his own head, while he’s already stuck in his own memories. In his own stupid head again. Always in his stupid head. He’s in that stupid box, the cold one, the freezer - and he’s fucked it all up again. Bury him out back like a dead dog, because he’s just as fuckin’ useful.

And he knows _exactly_ what this is. From memories, ones he’d like to forget, that are a lot like this one - they told him, told him what he’d caused. His fault, always has been. Wash, York, the twins, Carolina, Maine, Tex, _Caboose_ \- 

There’s ringing in his ears, like the stupid psychosomatic tinnitus he’s developed, but it’s louder. It’s deafening.

The spiral slows when there’s the stupid metal _tink_ of armor over it all, making him jump back a little, away from the hand around his wrist. The panic of not really remembering where the fuck he is, until he sees the sand, and the shells, and the rocks and the walls of the base to his left, and Caboose, turned on his side, puppy dog eyes and all. And, somehow, waking Caboose up was what was going to push him over that edge.

Caboose talks, just his name, and there was a question mark on the end of it - information relayed from somewhere else. Surprisingly quiet, coming from Caboose. Usually, _usually_ it’s all shouting, because no one in their squad can do volume control. But Caboose is quieter, tired, and Church feels that weird pain in his chest again, and it makes him want to punch a wall. Because he shouldn’t feel bad. But he does, he _does_ , because it’s his fault. But it’s not, it was _Alpha_ , it was _Omega_ , but they’re all part of him. And, when Caboose sits up, he wishes that he had the mental capacity to bolt. To jump into the sea and drown. Or climb one of these cliffs. Or put a bullet in his head, _anything_ but sit here and be useless and let old news still affect him.

It’s hard to keep his thoughts in one place, the way he’s falling into those awful memories, and he _knows_ , but he can’t really control it. He can barely breathe, let alone follow Caboose’s stupid hands, the way he releases Church’s helmet, and he can hear the fans die down and the ocean get _so_ much louder. And he can breathe a little better, and, _wow_ , he can actually _smell_ the fake ocean. And oxygen sure tastes a _lot_ better when it’s not stale - how does air carry salt, anyway? Isn’t salt heavier?

A part of him mentions something offhand about _fine salt particulates_ , and he checks out of that as fast as he possibly can.

Caboose drops the helmet, and it doesn’t really register to Church that he even _has_ a face to look at. That he’s human in here, and not a ghost. He doesn’t register it until Caboose taps Church’s nose with his pointer finger and asks him if he’s forgotten how to breathe again, because _he_ forgets how to breathe sometimes, too - it’s nothing to be ashamed of.

It takes a second for it to process, and he tells him to shut the fuck up before he can stop himself. But Caboose smiles anyway.

Fake-Caboose smiles. He’s not really optimistic he’ll ever be able to see the real one ever again. None of them. Only fakes, only memories - funny, how they build him a special little coffin, buried in a field. He’s holding the hammer and the shovel.

Caboose looks so real, though. The grass, and the ocean, and Tucker shouting something about the Reds getting a new shipment of _something_ , all of that feels real, too. As real as _he_ is, anyway. So it’s fine. He’ll apologize tomorrow, and they’ll be fine, and he’ll find Tex, and everything will finally be right.

He’s better than Alpha was, he thinks. He hopes. He’s trying.

**Author's Note:**

> what fucking year is this!!!! i just caught up on rvb. ive watched since season 2. eternally i will love churboose. forever and always ill think about the ai in this series. i love you epsilon....... 
> 
> i always was a big fan of the idea that epsilon was. a lot nicer than alpha. like a lot. soft spot for caboose that he wont admit to... please god......... please im nothing


End file.
